My emotions are like an on and off switch. Yesterday was an off day. Today is an off day. Future days will be off days because words provide no backing and don’t mean anything to me. It’s cliche, but actions speak louder than words. Mean what you say? Then prove it.
PS. It’s difficult blogging from an iPhone. It’s like writing a very long text message. Not recommended.
Trying to reacquaint myself with my favourite four letter word — love — and I’m embracing and welcoming it with open arms. I’m glad that someone has the power and ability to not just make me feel a certain way, but has enabled me to actually see it…and hopefully, experience it once again.
I’ve only been in love once. And at that time, I was at a very difference stage in my life. I was still lodged inbetween an awkward transition — similar to my current state and how I am now — but it was different back then. I was in highschool and I was dating this guy whom I really fancied. We were very fond of eachother. Met eachother through a mutual friend and although there were a couple of girls after him, I was able to snag him in the end. After seeing eachother for a couple of months, we were finally “official” and I was soon falling head over heels. On our four month anniversary (remember when we used to keep count and celebrate monthly anniversaries?!), we finally said “I love you” to eachother. It was one of the best feelings ever, to have someone confess their love to you…and for you to feel exactly the same. Oh, how long ago that seemed!
But as our relationship grew, it had its ups and downs…moreso, on the downs as we obviously aren’t together anymore. We didn’t end on a particularly good note and I was heartbroken, desperate, and lonely for a good year and a half. My first love. Who was this guy and how come he was able to make me feel so strongly, in both a loving matter and, in the end, resentment?
That was four years ago. Ironically, four years and two weeks today would have been our sixth anniversary. But I’m glad those days are over. Everything happens for a reason and we definitely were not meant to be together. I was a completely different and naive person back then compared to the person I have become today. Nowadays, I am well-protected — my heart isn’t given away so easily anymore. I’m smarter, prettier, and talented. And I cook and bake better than your mama.
Sure, I’ve dated a fair share of questionable men, but I’m glad I held it out and waited for that special someone. And I’ve never been happier. I am sure not to screw this one up — if anything, it’ll be him. Let’s hope that won’t happen.
If I’m not blogging, that means things are going so well that I don’t even need to document it. Oh, the newfound joys of privacy. And some.
“Shallow” was a word I often heard when I was single and on the hunt for a man. And yeah, I admit that I still am a little shallow but why does that word have to be used with such negative connotations? I hardly see it as a bad thing; in fact, I see it as a positive. My definition of “shallow” would be havingpreference, knowing what I want (atleast at this age), and getting it. Sure, I may have certain “criteria” that I would like to have see fulfilled but it’s certainly not rigid. My boyfriend isn’t half the things I was looking for in a guy but hey, I’m happy because he still satisfies a) b) and c).
Honestly, I’m just writing this post out of spite because of a recent comment on one of my past entries. I’m not too irked that he called me “shallow” but moreso on the fact that he called me racist for having a preference for white guys. Um…no? I’m dating a guy who’s half Colombian and half Chinese. And everybody has their own preferences and biases. I’m sure this person who commented isn’t attracted to every race. I assumed this was common knowledge in this day and age. Guess not.
And I really don’t know what I am defending myself on my own blog. It’s rare that I let things get to me but I guess I’m just really bored at work right now (hence why I’m writing this so damn early). Moral of the story? Live and let live, bitch. Or should I say, write and let write. It’s my blog. ‘Nuff said.
‘Bout time I got some new workout music! Sick album — lots of pop and house influence, little bit of MIA, and lots of great collaborations. Beez in the Trap, Automatic, Whip It, Sex in the Lounge, and I am Your Leader amongst my faves. Love Nicki Minaj!!!
RHOV. Premiere. Is. Tomorrow.
I love The Real Housewives franchise and I am completely stoked for the Vancouver edition of it. And despite my eagerness and overexcitement for the show, I am unable to watch it. Why? Because I don’t have cable. And my boyfriend doesn’t want to watch it with me. And I have work at 6:00am the next day. FML. I’m actually pissed! Yes, I’m aware that I could download the next day and watch it on my laptop but that’s just like eating something from Tableau out of a take out container. Just no. It shouldn’t be done. And instead of being a great boyfriend and sacrificing two hours of his time to watch RHOV with me, he’s taking me to watch The Hunger Games, dinner, and catch up on Spartacus. Snore. I don’t even want to watch stupid Hunger Games anymore. And I don’t care about dinner because I would be more than glad to make him a homecooked meal (and demonstrate my future housewife skills) instead. My food is better than any restaurant he would take me to in Richmond anyways. Spartacus is a good thing though. But anyways, I’m freakin’ pissed. Oh, and even though I work at an ungodly hour the next morning, I would more than gladly give up sleep to watch this show. I’ve been waiting like a YEAR for this to come out, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t had cable for a month or so nor do I come home to any company (I live at home, FYI) so a little TV would be a real treat, to be honest. RHOV is a guilty pleasure of mine. And that 2-hour time slot where my brain will turn to mush will be greatly appreciated in the long run. All in all, I am pissed. I am not one to hide my anger and homeboy couldn’t even take the hint (well, he did but he just wouldn’t budge). Dealbreaker? Perhaps. Time to pull out the ‘no sex’ card.